One Simple Choice
by Icecane
Summary: Only a select few knew of the origins of the Pirate King Reaver, knowing how he destroyed his home for his own selfish reasons. But what provoked such an action? What could have happened that would bring him to such a choice?
1. A Perfect Day

**A/N: (clears throat) Fable and all related characters are owned by Lionhead.**

_**One Simple Choice**_

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: A Perfect Day<strong>

Oakvale.

A village known for its heroes as well as its hardships. Being brought to the brink of annihilation by one of Albion's greatest threats. But the village survived, and the people persevered. And over the years, the wounds healed and became distant memories. Becoming one of Albion's greatest villages.

But it was not the last grim event to befall the peaceful community. When many years later the village, and all its inhabitants were wiped out overnight. Leaving behind ruined structures and a decay of death and evil. As though a never ending scar stretched out, the lands of Oakvale became tainted with an unspeakable darkness. A corruption that expanded even further beyond the boundaries of the village and swallowed up the immediate area with an insatiable hunger.

There where no survivors of the massacre. Not even a shred of evidence to what had happened existed. All that became of it were questions with no answers. Even as the decades passed, the mystery of Oakvale was never solved. The hows and whys where a constant whisper on winds of Albion, stories where told of the villages rise and eventual fall, details becoming fictional for lack of true knowledge.

But the real reason was far more darker then anyone could have ever imagined.

Oakvale was a rare jewel in the land of Albion. The village was popularized by both its strength and its history. But it all came crumbling down because of one man. One man, and one choice.

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><p>It was another sunny day in Oakvale. The birds sang joyfully as they enjoyed the morning breeze. Usual sounds of the village awakening from their rest stirred in the air, preparing their routines to start their day.<p>

However there was one soul who became late to this own schedule. Just on the edge of the village, a simple two story house sat. With an easy glance, an odd structure could be seen, one that looked added onto the side of the building. Looking much like an oversized shed, it held its own door and single window.

The inside of the structure showed it as a simple living quarters. Very modest in terms of furnishings, it held what was needed and little more. Within what could be called the bedroom, a sleeping figure started to turn in his sleep.

After a series of drowsy grunts and an internal conflict of laziness, the man opened his eyes to be greeted by the sunlight through the only window. Still laying in bed, the man began stretching out his arms and legs, waiting for the audible 'pop' until he was satisfied.

While it was a simple routine he practiced every morning, there was something different with his own personal world. The strange feeling of not being alone was felt as he stared up at the ceiling. Then the man noticed the slight slop that went across to the other side of his bed, as though a weight was laying atop it along with his own.

The mystery was quickly solved when a woman quickly turned over and landed on the man. A startled cry escaped him as the woman grabbed him by the wrists, holding him down as she smiled over him.

"M-marie," he said, catching his breath from the shock, "what are you doing here?" A lovely giggle was her first response.

"I came in last night when I made it back to the village. Thought I would come see you, but you were already asleep." She climbed off of him and sat up on his bed. "By the way, you're a pretty heavy sleeper."

"Hmm," he replied as he got out of bed. A mirror hung on a nearby wall. Looking at it, he admired what he saw. Even with his horrendous bed hair, his handsome features were as clear as day. And while he wasn't one to be considered vane or pompous, there was no denying his youthful beauty.

But to him, even his own appearance was nothing when he looked at his girlfriend Marie. From her soft skin to her long light brown hair that held slight curls as it came down over her shoulders, he loved every detail of her.

It took only a few minutes for the man to fix his jet black hair and find suitable clothes.

"Well Marie," he said turning to her, "as much as I would _love_ to stay. Father's waiting and I can feel I'm already late."

"You could always take a day off," Marie said with a pout, "it's not as though he would deny you." A clear amused grunt came from him as he finished dressing himself.

"That's the problem, he hardly wants my help to begin with. But I have to do _something_, I can't have him think of me as a child anymore." Before turning to the door, he returned to his bed where he gave a farewell kiss to his love. "I'll see you later."

"Bye John," Marie said, kissing him back.

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><p>The fresh clean air came over his senses as John took a deep breath. Oakvale was just as beautiful as it was any other day.<p>

Oakvale had become one of the most famous villages in all of Albion. Due to the origins of the hero who had slain Jack of Blades many years ago. Even when the Hero's Guild was torn apart and the title of hero was cursed by every citizen of Albion, the hero of Oakvale was still praised as the greatest champion to their land. Oakvale itself flourished because of the village's fame, increasing in size as newcomers visited and eventually stayed within its borders.

It was a peaceful town, a place anyone would be happy to call home. If not everyone in the town knew you, it was obvious you did not live there.

Not much time had passed as John made his way through the village, everyone greeting him as he passed by. His path led him to the front of the village, it's entrance being shadowed by a suspended bridge. Its wooden form stretching out between two hilltops, connecting together to form a new path.

The old boards creaked and groaned as his weight pushed down on them. And standing in the center was a tall, burly man, John's father.

"You're late," he said in a stern, disapproving tone.

"Uh... yeah I was..." John tried saying.

"I don't want to hear your excuses," he barked, "If you are going to hound me about helping, then you better not make me wait." While John was willing to go further with his reasons, he decided against it.

"I'm sorry father," John said, "and I really do want to help you." With an annoyed sigh, his father pointed toward a stack of boards and gave the orders for them to begin. It was one of his father's jobs in the village. A hard worker whose good with his hands, he repairs anything that becomes damaged in the village whenever the need arises. Currently, it was his job to repair the bridge, it's boards beginning to weaken from their age.

It was something that caught John's eye. Thinking of how the boards were once as strong as any other, but then the test of time ravaged their strength, eventually forcing their removal. The concept was easily applicable to humans as well, giving the notion of life and death.

John quickly shook his head, pushing away his wandering mind. Something he was sure his father would scold him for if he had noticed.

Though it may seem that his father was poor towards his child, it was quite the opposite. If anything, John's father was one of the greatest. Setting the best examples and teaching needed lessons when the time was right. It was just his father's own idea of his limitations that was skewed.

His father was a strong, independent man. Even as his age continuously increased, it didn't slow him down in the slightest. He was always someone who didn't accept help when he did something, even when the help was his own son. Thinking that such a thing was a sign of weakness. John always admired him for it, defying the weakening effects of age.

But occasional his father would cave to the pleas of his son to be given a chance at work. John wanted the chance to fend for himself, to earn what he is given. He turned the age of adulthood years ago and his parents still treated him as a child. Though he was hardly given a chance to prove himself.

With their combined efforts the bridge was repaired quickly. They both stood over their work, admiring it.

"Not too bad huh," John said, happy that he didn't mess anything up.

"I suppose not," his father replied, the excitement non-existent.

His father went to retrieve their tools. Listening as the boards were as silent as the grave. But there was one bad spot, a set of boards that weren't properly nailed in. Under the big man's weight, the boards gave way. As the weightless sensation of falling took in, he tried grabbing for the ledge, his fingers not catching a thing. While he braced for the grounds impact, a grip tightened around his arm. He looked up to see his son holding onto him with an iron grip.

Though it took all his strength, John was able to hoist his father up and back onto solid ground. After a moment of both of them catching their breath, John's father stood up and gave a loud grunt of frustration.

"Damn it John," he yelled, "I told you to double check your work. Then things like this wouldn't happen."

"I'm sorry," John muttered, glumly staring at the ground.

"But," his father continued, "I'm glad your reflexes are as good here as they are at that range of yours." John looked up to see a smile on his father's face. "Good work helping your old man." It was almost unreal, his father complimenting him like that was unheard of. To go even further, his father added a sharp pat on the back, a simple act that his father had no idea of its value to his son.

"Let's get this mess fixed up." And with a new vigor, they accomplished just that. Making absolutely sure their work would last before they finished.

Afterwords, the task of the day was done. With nothing else needed in the village, John was given the rest of the day to do whatever else he wanted. Of course his plans were already set in mind as he returned home for a moment and made it for the village exit.

It didn't take long for John to make it to his destination. A clearing in the forested area just outside of the village. Large posts dotted the spot, each with a circle carved into the wood, many more smaller circles forming in its center. Another portion held a long railing, with a line of glass bottles set across it.

A place that John had put together years ago when he realized a talent he had. In his younger years, John discovered that he had an uncanny skill when it came to firing a gun. With barley little effort, he could make impossible shots. What was even stranger was his physical changes whenever he held a firearm. His eyes being able to focus to see any detail in something no matter the distance, or how his reflexes honed to near perfection.

It became a usual routine for John to take his favorite pistol and a bag of shots to practice. Sometimes spending hours if the amount of ammunition he carried allowed it.

The sound of gun fire and shattering glass echoed through the area for some time. Daylight was quickly spent and the sky began darkening as the day was coming to an end. John never missed a shot, even as he tried new maneuvers to make it more challenging, though the challenge to him was still child's play.

He continued his onslaught of wooden posts and glass bottles until he heard a new sound make its way to his ears. A soft giggle that came from behind him, he turned to see Marie watching him from a short distance.

"I figured you would be here," she said.

"What can I say," John replied, spinning the pistol around on his finger, "a pistol in my grip just feels too right."

"Well, I can think of something else you could occupy your time with." John's face reddened slightly at her comment.

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><p>John and Marie sat underneath their favorite tree, a towering oak that shadowed everything around it. From their spot, they could see the entire sky expanded out before them. Their peaceful surrounding was only increased as they were given a clear view of the sunset. The lit sky darkened and glowed with the heavenly colors of twilight.<p>

John couldn't have asked for a more perfect day. With him earning new found respect from his father, and spending his time with the woman he loved, John couldn't hope for anything more.

But what he did not know, was the problem with a perfect day. As such days only make the bad ones even worse.

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><p><strong>AN: Well there you have it. Once again, this isn't the most original concept, but hopefully I can make it as enjoyable as possible with my plans for it.**

**This fic has been brewing for some time as I worked on my last Fable fic, glad I can start working on it. Though it won't be nearly as long, I'm sure it will turn out well. I'm also going to start naming my chapters, as I feel it can add a little extra something then just seeing a bland "Chapter #"**

**So as you would expect, if you happened to like this beginning chapter, leave a review showing what you may have liked, or possible flaws you may have noticed. As I am sure there is always room for improvement. And encouraging words are always helpful.**


	2. The Crypt

**Chapter 2: The Crypt**

John awoke to find his sleep taking away more time out of the day once again. Though it didn't bother him knowing he had a good excuse for the reason. A well appreciated pop came as he bent his back, his body still exhausted from the activity of the previous night.

There was a soft moan coming from next to him. Marie rolled over in the bed as she unconsciously searched for a more comfortable spot. This time however, there was no surprise in her presence, John fully expecting her to be at his side when he woke.

Deciding to allow his love to rest, John very carefully crept out of bed, dressed himself, and left the small shelter without a creak.

John didn't have far to go. With a simple turn of his heel and handful of steps, he was at the front door to his parent's home. The need to knock not existing, John walked into the home and was greeted with a vast array of delicious smells.

His mother was a wonderful cook, able to take the simplest of ingredients and make something spectacular. And with two men to feed, it gave her all the practice she needed to perfect the art.

"Ah, it's you John," his mother said cheerfully, "I was wondering when you would be up. It's always strange to not know when you come and leave that room of yours." Her worries being drawn due to the lack of sound that existed between both their home and his own little hut. It was a blessing John accounted for that his parents were deafened when it came to any sounds coming from his own place, especially due to the company he kept.

Sitting down, a plate of breakfast was placed in front of him. While devouring the meal, the sound of the door creaking open could be heard. John and his mother both looked to see his father walking into the room.

"John," he said immediately upon seeing his son, "I have work to do in the crypts, I was wondering if you'd like to help." The request had caught John by surprise. Usually having to beg his father to aide in his work. No time was wasted for his reply.

"Of course," John said, his smile stretching from ear to ear.

"All right," his father said with a nod, "finish eating and meet me there." Then without another word, the man left the house.

"Seems as though your father is trusting you with more work," John's mother thought aloud. "Though it's hard to ignore what a strong man you've been turning into." A sigh of remembrance then came from her as she thought of the past. "It's seems like yesterday you brought Marie home, you two always make such an adorable couple." At that point, not a single inch of John's face was its normal color. "You should really think about settling down with her."

The last comment brought a look of shock to John's face. Marriage? It seemed odd for his mother to mention it, especially so early on.

"I think we have a while until we need to think about that mother," John replied. His mother just gave a disappointed look.

"Now now John, you know you care for her and she cares for you. That's all you need before the question should come up. With that, you don't need a set age."

"Well thank you for your insight," John managed to say as he swallowed the last of his food and cleaned the table,"but as of now there aren't any plans." With a farewell to his mother, John left the house and made his way towards his father's location. All the while, his mothers pestering questions stayed on his mind.

In truth, he wished for nothing more then to ask for Marie's hand. They were both madly in love with each other and both knew there was no one else for them. But one fact glared down on him that wasn't easily solved, money.

With no real form of funds, John was nowhere near being able to cross such a large milestone. While his parents would be more then happy to pay any and all expenses, to John it was out of the question, being a matter of pride and dignity. But that still left him with no options. What he was given for his minimal help to his father's work was mostly spent on everyday expenditures, leaving very little left in terms of savings.

It wasn't just the cost of the wedding either, but their lives afterward. Despite what his mother would say, John still lived at home. The shack he called a home was nothing more then an addition that became a constant reminder to his status. It would be unacceptable to assume he could take a spouse with such living arrangements.

The sad truth was that his desire to take Marie as his bride was nothing more then a wild fantasy.

As John held his mental discussions, he came upon the crypts his father had spoken of.

Many years ago, before John's time, even before his father's, the Oakvale graveyard had become full. From the massacre that nearly wiped out the village, to the destruction of the Hero's Guild, room within the graveyard became full. Then when the village expanded over the years, the need for more space was becoming a obvious. Rather then clear new land to expand upon the old, it was decided to create an underground network of stone tunnels to keep the dead.

No one still knew of the real reasons, or how it was made in the first place. A door was carved into the side of a large hill, its entrance led to winding tunnels that snaked about into a seemingly never-ending series of chambers and corridors. He wasn't sure anyone had ever fully seen the entire structure. Even with its impressive size, there was even more to it that went unseen, fallen walls and locked doors hid away many secrets.

As John traversed the stone tunnels, he rubbed his shoulders as if in a chill. Something that he never liked about the crypt, a deathly freeze could be felt throughout the halls. Even when the land was in the peak of summer, the crypt held a chill that would cut into your very soul. It was what kept John away from the horrid place, but his father had requested his assistance, and he wasn't about to give that up.

Following the correct path, it took no time at all for John to run into his father, already working on positioning an old suit of armor, a standard decoration found within the crypt.

"There you are," his father said, "glad you could make it down here."

"I wouldn't want to disappoint you," John replied.

His father gave a satisfied grin and they got to work. From moving away the fallen rocks and crumbling pillars, to repairing the cracks developing within the walls, John and his father worked hard to get their work done as quickly as possible.

John hoisted up a stone lid he and his father attempted to place it on a matching coffin, his father having carved it as a replacement.

They were forced to lift it over their shoulders due to the coffins elevated height. Stretching his arms and legs to their limit, the lid thudded as it shook from the strain of the two men.

It was then a soft cracking sound was heard. At first, John was worried that he had damaged the lid. But suddenly, the strength being placed on the lids other side dropped. John watched as his father howled in pain and fell to the floor, the lid following and shattering as it struck the floor.

"Father, what's wrong?" John asked, running to his father's side.

"M-my back," he shouted, crying out in pain once again as he attempted to move, "I can't walk."

"Don't worry dad, I'll help you up." Slowly moving his father up, John swung his arm over his should to let his weight hang on him. His father's bulkier size was as clear as day as the weight pushed down on him, but knowing his father was is pain motivated John enough to persevere.

Moving as slow as possible, John carried his father through the tunnels and out of the crypt, listening to the groans and moans of pain with each jolt of a step.

Outside, they didn't make it far until someone noticed them. It was Marie, a worried look on her face as John explained what happened.

"Let me help," she said after John was finished, grabbing onto his father's other arm. With her help, they managed to make it back to their home.

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><p>"How could this have happened," John questioned, looking at his pained father lying in bed.<p>

"He's just getting at that age John," his mother answered, "that's what happens when you get older."

"You get weak?" It was unreal to him, his father was such a strong man. How anything as insignificant as time could weaken him was almost unimaginable.

"Essentially, that's right," his mother finally said, hardly noticing the mental effect it was having on her son. "Someday, you will go through it as well. You didn't think you could keep youth forever did you?"

It was at that moment John felt a crack in his perception of reality. His eyes fogged over, covered by a gray haze. Wiping his vision clear, he opened his gaze and looked on in shock at what he saw. His mother and father, as though he were looking at his parents for the first time.

John noticed every detail of their wavering youth and every approaching seniority. The black hair that ran in the family developing spots of gray, skin beginning to sag and form wrinkles over their faces. In that instant, his mother and father seemed to age instantaneously, what youth he saw in their appearance was nothing more then a facade.

In a fit of terror, John stumbled out of the bedroom and ran out of the house, leaving a confused family behind.

But it did not stop anything, even the village had changed. The buildings shifted from a pristine condition to an aged and decrepit form. Even the oak that he had spent countless times with his love was a gnarled mess of dead wood.

John couldn't accept it, he couldn't allow himself to see how blind he truly was. A veil of ignorance hid his eyes from the truth for too long, that everything and everyone would become old before finally dieing.

The overwhelming sense of imprisonment took over him. Feeling trapped within the confines of mortality. To be pushed and pulled across the fence of life and death. It was something John could barly handle.

As he raced out of the village, John we eventually stopped as his feet tripped themselves. Crashing into the muddy dirt road leading out into the forests beyond Oakvale, John looked into a pothole that had filled with water. His reflection stared back at him, his black hair and flawless beauty showed. But the horror struck him as he watched the image distort, his hair turning to gray and then to white before finally slipping away from his skull, his flesh wrinkling and disfiguring until it peeled away from bone.

With a cry of both anger and fear, John struck at the image, sending a splash of cold water up into his face. The sudden shock snapped the young man out of his deranged state.

"John, are you alright." asked a voice coming from above. John looked up to see Old Mike, the traveling merchant who crossed between the nearby towns to sell his wares.

"I...I'm fine," John muttered, picking himself up and wiping the dirt from his cloths.

As his name suggested, Mike was considerably aged, even to John's skewed perceptions. From appearance to attitude, it was hard to believe someone could evade the Reaper's grip for so long.

"Seems like you're troubled," Mike mentioned, handing a freshly opened bottle of wine to John. His caravan was filled with different goods from the plain everyday items to more exotic objects, and alcohol was a specialty of his. Though John rarely held a taste for such drinks, being of either little money to afford it or not holding a craving for it at the time, with the given circumstances he was ready to indulge himself.

"Just a lot going on at the moment, too much too fast, it's all confusing," John said after taking a heavy swig from the bottle.

"You shouldn't worry yourself on too many things," Mike replied, his elderly wisdom beginning to show, "from what I've seen, if you just follow your heart and listen to what you truly want, everything will work itself out."

"Hmm," John murmured, partially shrugging off the advice, not being someone who took it too seriously.

John was ready to say a farewell to Mike when something caught his eye. Nailed to the wall of the caravan was a large piece of parchment with an announcement on it. As John's eyes scanned every detail written on it, his eyes widened in excitement. Seeing a solution to his problems, or at least one of them.

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><p><strong>AN: Argh! Well, I should probably apologize for the long wait for this chapter. **

**It was really just a bad time to start a new story. With a lot of things coming in at last minute, didn't give me much time to want to work on this. The time I did have I was either too tired to work on it or had a serious writer's... (typer's?) block.**

**So I can only hope no one minded the wait. And I'll try to get faster updates going. As I have the next chapters planned out pretty well, it shouldn't be that difficult to piece them together.**


	3. Choking On Silver

**Chapter 3: Choking On Silver**

John had re-read the parchment in front of him at least six more times before Old Mike's laughter stopped him,

"See something you like," Mike said with a chuckle, watching John's expression with amusement.

But Mike hardly knew of John's affinity towards firearms and what he saw flared that passion into an inferno. The parchment was a flier detailing a contest of marksmanship being held in Bowerstone, testing all skills needed when firing a gun and making the perfect shot. First prize was what caught John's eye the most, a large sack of gold going to the winner. Though the amount of coin wasn't enough to make anyone rich compared to the standards of a city like Bowerstone, in Oakvale, it could be enough to afford a small home away from his parents, maybe even enough for an engagement ring.

"Wha-what exactly is this?" John asked, his eyes still glued to the paper.

"Well," Mike replied, scratching his head in a bit of confusion, "it's just an annual contest for shooting. Though it's usually only attended by residents of Bowerstone, it's open to anyone."

"Really..." John murmured, another scan of the details showed there was no date, "when is it?"

"In about three days I believe, but you aren't thinking of participating are you? Doubt someone like you would have a chance against those city dwellers."

"I think I could hold my own," John said with a grin, fully aware of his own skill with a pistol.

"Ah but I'm sure you've never heard of Arian."

"Who?" John asked, repeating the name and only being able to think about how strange it was.

"He's the reigning champ in town. One of those up-tight pish posh types, a silver spoon in his mouth or whatever they call it. Rich family too, but they're so full of themselves you'd think Avo himself had blessed 'em. What's worse is that he does have the talent to be considered one of the best shooters in all of Albion."

"Hmph," John huffed, "I guess a simple village boy would cause quite an upset to Mr. High n' Mighty if he was to walk away with first place."

"Well you're welcome to try, but I suggest you practice till your finger hurts, competition will be fierce... I'm sure you'll need a ride as well." John nodded in confirmation. "Well, I'll be here the day before for business. I could bring you back to Bowerstone, but you'd have to stay a night in town for the contest."

"That sounds fine." John was quick to answer, he had never been to Bowerstone before and the idea of spending a whole night there seemed like it would be an experience.

"All right then," Mike said, "so long for now John and remember what I've said, practice." Mike then rode off and out of town, the sounds of his horses growing more distant by the second.

John reflected on the plan. He had only a short time to practice for the competition. Though he was confident in his skills, he wasn't going to become too full of himself to neglect a bit of practice to hone his talents.

Then there was the part of him leaving so early for it. But it didn't cross his mind that it would present a problem. Marie was sure to be out of town at the time and with his father's current status, it would keep his mother too occupied with his care rather then her son's activities.

So he waited for Marie to head off for her own duties. It was always a job John didn't approve of, as it brought great risk to his beloved. Marie's tasks being to venture off into the forests and swamps that surrounded Oakvale, examining the different species of plant life that inhabited as well as the many ruins of the Old Kingdom that littered the area.

Of course John was worried for her. Dangers lurked within the wilds, monstrous creatures that could easily tear down a person with little thought. But Marie always assured him that she only stayed within the safer parts.

As she walked away from the village, John waited until she was out of sight before heading off to begin his own plans.

Though it took some doing, John was able to re-design his shooting range. Trying to make as much of a challenge for himself as he possibly could. Making certain that it would test his abilities to the fullest.

The rest of that day was spent with John trying those talents, firing his pistol to the point he thought it would break. By the time he was finished his knees ached from staying in single place for so long, his ears rung from the chime of his pistol releasing it's shot, and his face held a stain of light gray from the constant wave of smoke bombarding him with each press of the trigger.

Exhausted, John cleaned himself up and collapsed into his bed, sleep taking over almost instantaneously.

There was very little change in the next day. With a simple hello and goodbye to his parents, he went back to the range, a fresh sack of shots in hand.

This time however, John attempted something new with his technique. Attempts to bring even more of a challenge to himself brought John to blind himself, relying on his skill in memory to focus on the right spots.

As that eventually became old, he began to move from one spot to another. Only after a few steps would he sharply turn toward a target and fire, forcing his reflexes to react to the change in positioning and to be fast enough to make a quick shot stay accurate.

Though John was tempted to stay and practice all night as he did the previous, he retired early to allow himself ample time to make the necessary preparations for his trip to Bowerstone tomorrow. It would, after all, be his first visit to the place.

With a small collection of a few garments and a sample from his meager savings, he figured he was set for a nights stay in the strange environment. So having set everything up, John streatched out on his bed, unable to sleep from the excitement that was swimming throughout his mind. But eventually his gaze began to blur as his eyelids drooped and sagged to a close.

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><p>The next day was met with an energetic John, ready and waiting for the time for his departure. Taking a sip from a glass of milk at the town's Inn, John watched as Old Mike made his dealings with the Innkeeper, hardly paying attention to the conversation itself but rather waiting for the moment they were finished and Mike gave the word to leave.<p>

It had been child's play to get his parent's knowledge of his trip without alluding to his intentions. Making the claim of the possibility of medicines that could heal his father faster in Bowerstone. Though it took a few minutes of reassurance, his parents found no way to argue against it and relented.

Then after tucking away his favorite pistol under his clothing, John grabbed his bag and left to await Old Mike.

Being on pins and needles during it all, Mike eventually said his goodbyes and gave the signal of their leaving. John practically hopping out of his chair when he followed the old man.

John became amazed and awestruck at the sights he saw during their trip. Passing through the swampy landscapes, dense forests and open fields that separated Oakvale from the rest of the world. The furthest he had ever been to leaving the village were the forests right outside, even then he only ventured so deep within them that he was sure it didn't even count as him leaving the village.

But even then, the journey didn't have it's more tense moments. On a few occurrences the cart would stop suddenly. Before John would be able to question it Mike would have a stern gaze to him, ordering for John to hold out his weapon. Doing so, he noticed Mike setting a rifle on his lap before setting the cart back on the path.

Even after that John didn't ask what they were doing, it wasn't needed. As they slowly passed through the area, all throughout it, there was an unmistakeable feeling of being watched. Eyes intently following their every movement, hiding in the overgrown bushes and silently following them without making so much as a murmur. Each pair of eyes waiting and hoping for their prey to drop it's guard or suffer an unexpected accident that would hinder it.

Just as they passed the area, the feeling would suddenly evaporate and a heavy sigh of relief was breathed by both men.

With the tense moments aside however, the experience was something John marveled at. All he could think about was how much of the world he was missing out on.

Hours after their departure, the walls of a city came into view. The stone walls that surrounded Bowerstone was what John saw first, a concept that was alien to him. As they came closer, he saw an enormous drawbridge extended out over the road, allow entry of anyone by foot or by wagon. A small group of guards at the entrance eyed them as they passed, giving no form of greeting or hospitality.

Then came the noise, a roar people amassed in quantity. John could only assume the place was the town's market, people walked from building to building, entering with nothing but leaving a purchase. Many stands also dotted the area, simplistic enough but even they seemed to gain more then enough attention from wandering eyes. Everything seemed overwhelming to John.

"Over there," Mike said, pointing a finger toward a large two story building, "that's the Inn, you should go there to rest up. Not much else around here of importance, you can just sight see and find out where you can get into that contest." They then stopped and John jumped out of the cart. "Best of luck to ya John, here's hoping you can show that us simpler folk can do anything these city dwellers can."

"Thank you for the help Mike, and I'll be sure to do you proud," John said with a smile.

"Well alright then, I'll be back here to help bring you home afterward. Just stay out of trouble and watch yourself, this town isn't like Oakvale." And with one final farewell, Mike gave the order for his horses to go and he headed back toward Bowerstone's entrance, disappearing as he left the city.

Alone, John set off to find wherever he need to be for the contest.

Bowerstone was truly a wondrous place to him. So many shops selling so many different items, things he didn't even know existed. Though his gaze drifted off to the stalls and shops, he wanted to find the registration before anything else. But finding it was a chore of its own.

The size of the city was the biggest issue, while he thought Oakvale was large for its time, Bowerstone easily put it to shame. Even the quantity of people walking the streets made him feel cramped and confined at times. Still there was nothing in sight to where the contest details were. When asking a guard for directions, he was given rudely sarcastic remarks that gave no help to his dilemma.

But despite it all, John found what he was looking for. A table was nestled away from the large crowds of the city, an official looking man sat with stacks of papers strewn in front of him.

John gained the man's attention as he approached.

"Hello son," the man greeted cheerfully, "I don't think I've ever seen you in these parts before. New to Bowerstone?"

"Yes I am actually," John responded, happy to meet someone who didn't have such a sour attitude.

"Ah well I welcome you to Bowerstone," the man continued picking up a pile of papers and showing them to John, "I will go off and assume you are here for the marksmanship competition?"

"That's right."

"Terrific, if you would just fill this out we can set you up for the competition." It was a simple paper that just wanted a small amount of information about him, only taking a few minutes for John to finish. "All right then, uh... John, glad to have you take part in this. And your from Oakvale, how interesting. All I can really say is best of luck to ya." John then noticed something strange happen to the man, his smile had completely vanished from his face as his eyes moved away from John and toward something else.

"Oh and who might this be?" A voice called out behind John. He turned around and saw an oddly dressed man about his own age approaching him, two other guys following right behind.

"I think he is a shooter," one of the following men whispered to him.

"Ha," the man said with the strangest laugh John had ever heard, sounding a cross between a young boy and the types of men his father would refer to as 'lacking in female enjoyment', "this filthy mongrel a marksmen? Truly a fools idea of a joke."

"Excuse me?" John asked more confused then agitated.

"Well clearly one such as yourself could hardly pull a trigger let alone think they are qualified for a professional competition. Oakvale did you say you were from? Can the dirt farmers there even afford shots to fire a gun?" John caught on that he was being insulted.

"Like you would know what a marksmen should be like." Again the man just laughed at him.

"Of course I do you simpleton," the man then gave a short bow as to show his non existent superiority, "Arian Grey, greatest marksmen to grace Albion. You should feel honored as well, I usually have someone to make my introductions for me." A chuckle escaped John then, he knew of the Grey name as did much of Albion. Back before the Guilds fall, the Grey family were the leaders of Bowerstone, until the name was tarnished when a scandal of murder and accusations of witchcraft shattered the foundations of the city's political power.

"Grey huh?" John said with a smirk, "To think Bowerstone would allow your kind within it's walls, at least we 'dirt farmers' have standards." That held enough of an effect on Arian to make John happy, the crack of his composure and to see the fiery anger in his eyes.

"You'll watch your tongue peasant," he hissed. "The Greys are a proud family of sophistication and culture. Everything of the Lady Grey's doing was settled with her death, we may have lost our power because of her, we will not lose our respect!"

"If you say so Arian, just wait until the competition and we will see if all that wealth will effect your aim at all." Arian was quick to regain himself after that, showing a boastful grin.

"Like it will be any sort of challenge, you're out of your league. Now, we go," Arian said with a snap of his fingers, he then turned to leave followed by his two companions. Only after a few steps did he turn around to look John in the eyes. "Tatty-bye peasant." Then he was gone, leaving a thick sense of hot air about the area.

Though as John thought about the encounter, even though the man was a smug fool with the personality of a pool of water after a Hobbe has walked through it, there was a since of sophistication about him. It was something John had never knew existed, having never met anyone who could be considered wealthy. Even if it was from someone like Arian, there was a fascination that John found from it.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: (light clap) yay... Okay yeah, Chapter 3 took a bit of time. Though it was more of a long time before I actually started it rather then the whole process taking a long time. Was a bit busy with work and free time came and went with other things.**

**And I partially blame two things, Resistance 3 and Demon's Souls. Got Resistance as soon as it came out, big fan of the series and all. Picked up Demon's Souls along with it, since the sequel is coming out in a few weeks, figured I'd this one a try and fell in love. But the new game feel has drained out of me so I'm not as compeled to bleed my thumbs every moment I can.**

**So anyway, as I said, the writing itself didn't take very long. So I'll try and give myself time to work on 4 sooner to try and not have such huge breaks between chapters. And as usual, hope everyone is enjoying the story.**


	4. Win One Thing

**Chapter 4: Win One Thing...**

After registering for the competition, John headed off toward the Inn, wanting to find a place to rest after the long trip to Bowerstone. Traversing around the city had become much easier as night started to fall and many inhabitants began to retreat to their homes.

Standing before the Inn's entrance, John looked up at the sign. Being a simply cut plank of wood, it depicted a cow wearing a particular woman's garment that left John as puzzled as he had ever been. With a shake of his head, he walked into the warm light of the Inn.

The Bowerstone Inn wasn't very different from what they had in Oakvale. The main counter where the Innkeeper stood was at the far back, sets of tables were set up around the room and stairs led up to the sleeping quarters. The only notable differences he could see was the relative size, being much larger from wall to wall then Oakvale's own. What was used as decoration was the other thing that caught his eye, swords and jeweled ornaments clung to the walls like hungry spiders. John even saw an old bow, being surprised as it was the first he had ever seen intact.

A welcoming greeting was received from the Innkeeper as John stood before the counter.

Lucky for him, there was one vacant room left. Holding up his pouch of gold, John couldn't help but notice how empty it was. The brown sack was obtained through Old Mike, having a large supply of them, John got his for a discount. Being used by people who would generally have good sources of coin, using it for the meager amount he had showed an excess of emptiness that seemed pitiable.

Ignoring it, John paid for his room and added extra for a cheap bottle which he took to a nearby table to relax and drink.

But the serenity was short lived as he heard a familiar voice enter the Inn.

"There's our little peasant friend," Arian Grey said, entering John's view, his companions following close behind. "So you still think you have a chance in the competition?" John gave the man an annoyed look before responding.

"There needs to be a reason to doubt before you can start," John replied, seeing if logic couldn't help shut him up. "Having not seen your skill nor you mine, assuming either one is better is just foolish." John smirked while taking another sip from his drink, feeling rather intelligent for the moment.

Then a gunshot was heard and the next thing he knew his bottle was shattered, the cool liquid within soaking his face and the front of his shirt.

Arian's laughter sounded off afterward as he put away his smoking pistol.

"There's my reasoning for you," he said through his chuckling. John's eyes formed into a fierce glare as his temper was being shortened by the second. "Don't cry peasant," he said mockingly. "How about a drink for my friend here," turning toward the Innkeeper, "your cheapest, most watered down drink you have here, should make him feel right at home." Taking a coin from his pockets, Arian flipped it over to the counter.

Upon hitting the counter, the coin bounced up, but before it could get high enough, a new shot sounded off and the coin was thrown against a wall before dropping to the floor. The patrons of the bar all looked to see John, his own smirk showing and a pistol in hand.

"There's mine," he simply said, walking past Arian with his smirk still showing. John went up the stairs and headed for his room to clean up and get to sleep.

Arian hurriedly retrieved the golden coin to examine it. His eyes went wide as he looked at it. A bullet sized hole was cut straight through the very center of the coin, a perfect cut. Throwing the coin down in anger, Arian slammed the coin on the table and stormed off, the people in the Inn whispering among themselves over the ordeal.

* * *

><p>The morning greeted John warmly. He was hardly able to get up from the comfort he felt within his bed. The mattress was so much softer then the one he had back home, it surprised him to know end to realize it was a rented bed.<p>

But he knew he had to get ready for the competition being held that day. Dressing himself in a newer pair of cloths, he went outside to the markets for a quick breakfast. With a few short hours before the contest would actually start, John examined the many stores and stalls that held different merchandise.

There was one stall in particular that caught his eye, though unlike the others it wasn't just a simple table with a sign hanging above it. It was a rather large caravan with its side opened to work as its own table. No sign was posted to indicate what it held but different items marked for purchase either laid on the counter-table or hung near it.

John stood before the caravan, his eyes wandering to each of the items there. It was an odd assortment of things that showed no real theme to what the caravan was meant for. He was tempted to examine the items more closely but the 'shop' was vacant of any other life but his own, not wanting to look like some thief, he kept his hands to himself.

Only moments after he noticed the lack of an owner, a voice appeared from within the caravan, startling John to the point of jumping backward out of his skin.

"How may I help you," a woman said, appearing in front of the counter within the caravan. The inside of the caravan, John noticed, was incredibly dark, hiding most of the woman away to were he could only see the lower half of his face and only make out simple details in the dress she wore.

"I... I was just browsing," John said, re-gathering his wits.

"A curious eye is how all great discoveries are made," the woman commented. She seemed odd to him, her voice seemed controlled and showed little emotion, even her movements were simple, performing little to any body movements with her speaking.

"Yeah..." he muttered, feeling awkward in the situation.

"Is there anything specific you would be looking for?" When he thought about it, John did remember a little lie he had told, he might as well turn it into a truth.

"Actually, you wouldn't happen to have any medicines for pain? My father suffered an accident recently and has been bed ridden due to it." The woman said nothing for a few moments, something about her made him feel uneasy.

"Your father..." she finally said, "I would assume he is elderly?"

"Uh... not really, but he is getting there I suppose." The woman gave a slight nod of understanding before disappearing inside the caravan once again. The sounds of movement followed as she searched through an unseen stock.

"Age is truly a mysterious thing," the woman said as she looked throughout the caravan. "To bring about experience and beauty from infancy to adulthood, then become a dreaded curse as the true pains of time destroys the body and brings death. It is a threat many people have fought against throughout history and though it is very rare, some have actually beaten the cold dark of the grave."

"Really," John asked, sounding intrigued.

"Yes, though they are only legends. But Albion holds many wondrous things, something that can stop the flow of time within a person is easily possible." The woman then returned to the counter, a small bottle in hand. Within the glass vessel, a blue liquid swirled around. "Give this to your father, it will rejuvenate him long enough to get him back on his feet."

"Great," John said, picking up the bottle and looking at it more closely, "how much do I owe you?" The woman gave a slight smirk to him.

"No charge, you seem like a nice young man. Especially for someone as handsome as yourself, not two traits that often coincide with each other."

"Well, thank you very much," John said graciously. The woman nodded and John turned to walk away.

"Good luck in the marksman competition as well," she called after him. The comment forced John to stop for a moment. How she knew he was apart of it surprised him. Though as he thought about it, due to Arian's heightened volume about his own boastfulness and John's lack of skill, it wasn't unbelievable to think the woman may have over heard.

John shook off the eeriness of it and made his way off to were the competition itself was set up.

* * *

><p>A large crowd had gathered to witness the event. It surprised John to see so many interested in the art of firing a gun, something that was hardly looked at as a source of entertainment back in Oakvale.<p>

The means by which they would compete was something that astounded John to no end. A compiled together assortment of different machines and contraptions made a kind of target obstacle course. With a trial set up with different two dimensional targets of different creatures, each able to move along a railing and fold upward to be shot at. And on such a large scale, it generated unpredictable scenarios that was sure to test them in their speed and reflexes.

The rest of the competitors were already preparing themselves, checking their pistols for flaws and wiping them down to a perfect shine. Arian was among them, looking as pompous as ever, though upon seeing John's arrival, a piercing glare came from him. It was all John could do to not show a smirk as he realized how much of an effect the previous night had had on the man.

* * *

><p>A short and rather portly man walked up onto a small stage. John could only assume he was the current mayor of Bowerstone based off of the regal attire he wore along with the sense of authority that radiated off of him toward his people.<p>

"Attention everyone," the Mayor called out, hushing the crowds and drawing all eyes toward him, "I am pleased to see such a turn out to this years Best Marksman Competition. I see plenty of old faces, and many new. The final preparations have been made and we are ready to start the competition!" The crowd cheered in excitement and the Mayor waited a moment for it to die down. "As is tradition, we will have last years champion start us off, setting the standard for all others to fight against." The Mayor's gaze shifted over to Arian, "Arian Grey, if you would do the honor and get this show started."

"Yes my _lord_," Arian replied, showing a not so subtle facial twitch at the last part, "I would be happy to show what a real marksman can do." Holding up his pistol, Arian walked forward and into the firing area.

From there he went through the course, firing at the targets around him as they popped up. The crowds watched in awe as he made impressive shots. Even John had to admit that the windbag had considerable skill, he could only hope to beat him.

After it was done, Arian returned to the other competitors. The helping hands all removed the targets to tally up the points earned, based on the parts of the targets hit. There were also civilian targets that deducted points for being shot, unfortunately for Arian, he had made quite a few.

"Oh my," the Mayor said after hearing the final score, "three hundred and eighty-six everyone! A new course record!" The crowd burst into a fit of cheering while Arian boasted in front of them all. John couldn't help but roll his eyes at the sight.

After Arian, the rest of the competitors each took their own turns through the course. Their skills were admirable enough, though only a few barely came close to matching a Arian's performance part of the way. All throughout their attempts, Arian seemed uninterested, standing away from the groups and conversing with 'fans' who had only come to see him.

But soon enough, it was John's turn. The Mayor looked at him with interest, probably intrigued at an outsider joining and his possible worth.

John waited for himself to be called, resting a hand on the handle of his pistol and marching toward the firing area. What he first noticed was the silence of a certain rich snob, Arian had stopped his pointless conversations and kept his eyes locked on him. John only smirked as he closed his eyes and steadied his senses. He listened for the noises beyond that of the crowds, to feel the area that circled around him.

His eyes only allowed a front visual, but his other senses allowed for a full 360 degree range. Stepping into the center, he removed his pistol and waited for his contest to start.

Immediately, the targets began popping up. All manner of creatures were shown, from a savage Balverine to a lowly bandit. John wasted no time in dispatching any. Waiting for the squeak they made as they flew upward, he pointed his gun and fired as his eyes met their target.

It started off easy. The targets moving at simple speeds and being easily predictable. Moving on though brought more challenge, as the targets movements increased, staying up for shorter intervals and becoming more and more filled with civilian targets. But John never broke focus and never missed a shot. His speed was lightning quick and he could hear astonished gasps from the audience as he continued his onslaught upon the wooden creatures.

Then it was all over. The targets stopped appearing and he was being called back to the others. As with the others, his targets were collected and examined.

After only a few minutes, the Mayor received word and the crowed looked to him with anticipation.

"Five hundred and twenty-three," he shouted in excitement, "that not only wins the title of Champion, but it is the greatest record we have ever had!" The crowed went into an roar of cheering as John's faced showed his own excitement. "Congratulations," the Mayor shouted down to him, beckoning for John toward the stage.

Standing atop it faced him toward the crowds, still cheering over his success, a toothy grin was his response as he couldn't shake off the joy.

"Congratulations John of Oakvale," the Mayor said, handing him a golden trophy, a sack of gold coins sitting inside of the cup. John held it up high to the crowd as they began cheering even louder. All except for Arian who showed a furious look on his face, reddening from the rage burning inside him. Then he just walked away from the crowds and out of sight.

* * *

><p>After the competition was wrapped up, John became the center of attention. Waiting inside the Inn for Old Mike to appear, a flood of people surrounded him. All asking questions about himself, what types of gun and shots he used, and the town he lived in.<p>

The attention was getting out of hand however as John started to feel suffocated.

But the feeling didn't last long as the crowed was forced to disperse by the local guards. John was thankful enough for it but noticed how much their attitudes toward him changed since his first impression of them when he arrived.

Not too long after, John found Old Mike waiting for him. The elderly merchant's jaw almost broke off as he heard of John's success. Though he became dissappointed about missing out on Arian's reaction to the upset.

Demanding to hear about what happened, John jumped onto the cart and rode off to make the trip to Oakvale. Piecing together what he had seen to explain to the old man.

But someone had kept his eye on the lucky winner, hiding away in the shadows of Bowerstone. Arian's seething eyes stayed locked onto John all throughout his time of attention grabbing. His hands gripping on the small, silver second place trophy he received for his own rank in the competition.

"That bastard," Arian sneered, his arms trembling as his grip tightened over the trophy, "me Arian Grey, being beaten by some loathsome peasant from a nobody town! Well John, you had better enjoy your spoils while you can. For I shall make you pay for every moment of indignity you have forced upon me." Arian crushed the trophy in his hands, throwing the pieces to the ground before he stormed off.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: All right then, chapter 4 is finished. While it delves further into what's going on in the story, I doubt I was able to make the competition sound interesting enough. Though there isn't really much to do for it. Just think of the shooting range in Fable 2, but a much larger scale... yeah I know...**

**Anyway, I also forgot to talk a bit about Arian in the last chapter. Really I put a bit into his name and personality for a few reasons. Arian Grey, is a bit of a spin on Dorian Gray, the character who Reaver is actually based on. His surname also showing how his higher status and wealth came about, but lack of actual power. And figuring his attitude for John to experience also fit well with what I've done and what I will do with Arian. **

**But meh, knowing this won't bring anymore knowledge about the story itself, just a tidbit on how he came about.**

**So, as the usual, hope you guys have enjoyed everything so far. Keep on reading and we can see how this story unfolds itself.**


	5. Lose Another

**Chapter 5: ...Lose Another**

John said farewell to Old Mike.

The ride back to Oakvale was uneventful, nothing occurring except for John's retelling of his time in Bowerstone. Mike was particularly glued to the parts concerning Arian, bursting in laughter over his reactions to John's greater skills.

But the trip was over and his experience in the strange new area were now a memory, with a hefty sack of gold to go with it.

John then slapped himself as he realized he had forgotten something, his bed-ridden father and the bottle of medicine he had. So without wasting another moment, he headed off for home.

"Oh John, you're finally home," his mother greeted with a overjoyed expression. She had been putting the finishing touches on their dinner. Upon seeing her son, she was quick to put together a spot for a third.

"Yes," John replied, reaching into his bag and holding up the vial of blue liquid, "and I think I've found something father could use."

"Is that so?" his father broke in, walking into the room with an old stick under his arm for support, John was at least happy he was able to walk around.

Accepting the bottle, John's father eyed the contents carefully. Then with a pop of the lid, he took in its aroma and downed it. A slight groan escaped him as he stretched out his neck and back. But then a satisfying moan was let out as the rest of him stretched as well. The crude crux fell to the floor as the no longer crippled man moved about the house. A much more youthful looking spring in his step that matched that of a teenager.

"My goodness," he laughed out, stretching out his back again, much against John's mother's worry, "that stuff certainly did the trick. Haven't felt this way in years."

"It's good to see my trip was worth it," John said. He wanted to keep the real reason more of a secret until it was necessary for them to know.

After the magic act of healing his father, John sat down with his parents for dinner. Over the table he told them of his impressions that were gained. From the untamed wilds that surrounded them, to the stark contrast that a place like Bowerstone held toward a modest villager

"You'll find that the each part of the world is very different from one another," John's father said, pushing away his empty plate. "In my youth, I saw a small bit of that world. But I found that I'd rather settle down and make a family, I haven't looked back since."

"But don't you ever miss that sensation?" John asked, a hush of anticipation in his voice, "I mean, the sense of discovery, to see something you never have before. Sounds so wondrous to me."

"Many people have done just that John, but they also die because of it. This world isn't some peaceful place of happiness and joy. Out there, you either robbed blind by bandits or torn to pieces by some slobbering beast of fangs and claws." The words brought a subtle shudder into John's body, remembering the tense feeling as he traveled through the thick forests. But certainly such dangers only added to the excitement, and John was no pushover.

"It's not like I'm all that helpless father," John argued, "you can't deny my talent with a pistol. I'm sure I can take down living targets just as well as the wooden ones."

"Oh," his father said with a sarcastic intrigue, "you want to be a killer now too eh?"

"No no, but in self-defense, what can you do?"

"Heh, listen to your son," his father said, gazing toward his still silent mother.

"He has you spirit," she said, finishing the last of her own dinner. "I remember all those stories you told me of your run-ins with bandits. 'With just a sword and a stack of wits.' Certainly does sound like you."

"Those days are far behind me. I realized living by a blade was worthless in the end. Strength fades, and swords rust. Even your skill will wane as you grow older John, even the mighty power of the heroes lessened as the years ticked by."

"Perhaps," John murmured.

"There is no 'perhaps' to it, it is inevitable."

"Yeah..." John muttered, much quieter then his last word.

The constant theme of life, age, and death forced a bad taste into his mouth. With a sigh, John excused himself from the table and went off to his own little hovel.

Fishing into his newly acquired wealth, he sat on his bed and counted out the coins. Small golden stars that twinkled in the darkness of the sack they were in, each little spark caught his eye as he dug into the bag that never seemed to empty.

His counting done, John stored the number away in his own thoughts. Such a drool inspiring amount, he wouldn't forget it easily. John scooped up the gold, holding it in his hands, a few slipped by his fingers and landed on his lap.

John had never owned such a large sum in one piece. Just staring at it, knowing it was his and his alone, made his heart start racing.

Shaking the sensation away, he made sure every last coin was safely in the bag before he hid it away, along with the trophy he had.

* * *

><p>The next day brought back the mundane feelings that John associated with his village. With his journey to Bowerstone finished and his father healed, everything had gone back to normal.<p>

John's father had left early in the morning that day as well, ducking from the forbidding tone of his mother who was furious over his leaving to go work, even after all the time he had just spent in pain. Though John wondered why his father didn't ask for his help. But he figured from the constant eclipse of his mother's shadow, he would want peace and quite alone.

Not that John was complaining himself. It freed him up to venture off and judge prices of the first thing he wanted to purchase with his new wealth.

But of course in town like Oakvale, word of mouth travels fast. If anyone, even the local shopkeepers, were to find out that he was browsing for little bands of metal fit for a woman's finger, the surprise would be ruined as the gossip would spread like wildfire in dry brush.

Luckily for John, there was a new merchant in town. A rather strange man who sold his items from a large table outside the Inn. When John went to see him, it wasn't too hard to see how he obtained such a view.

His attire was the first thing caught by the eye. Wearing what looked like a cheap noble's tux, though rather then the traditional black, it was a light shade of fading blue, complete with a matching top hat. The other oddity came from the man's idea of facial hair. A curly mustache clung to his lip and branched outward, both ends curving up into loops.

But it wasn't just his personal appearance that created stares of passing eyes. The stall with which he sold his merchandise was something to behold. A rather large table that was painted in a variety of colors, different items sat atop it's surface with labels and prices. But the absurdity of it was with what else was attached to it. On one side of the table, three pipes came out and pointed upward. Each one was a different size with each releasing a puff of smoke in a rhythmic fashion, a musical chime following with every poof. The other side had a crank jetting out, rotating around and around until it would periodically stop, the releasing smoke stopping with it. Then the merchant would turn the crank and it would all begin again. The whole thing looked like an oversized music box.

"Hello there," the merchant greeted as John approached, "welcome to my humble stand. My name is Morgu. What can I interest you on this day?"

"Uh... well I was wondering if you may have any rings for sale?" With that request, Morgu's face lit up. Reaching over to his stall, he pulled at the front of the wooden frame. In his grip, a section of the wood opened up like a drawer in a desk. Inside was an assortment of rings.

"There's many to choose from," Morgu replied with a grin. "I've got rings that protect you against fires, floods, and disease. Rings that can make you feel as strong as a hero, or as weak as a child, for your enemies of course."

"No no," John broke in, able to see the merchant was about to go further into his sales pitch, "I'm looking for more... romantic rings."

"Ah, a ring for a special young lady... Let me see..." Morgu then searched through his table, pulling out hidden compartments of all sorts and eventually coming across a smaller one hidden away in the back leg. "Though my quantity is a bit low, what I have is guaranteed to be the best."

He then handed John a small drawer, about the size of his hand. Inside were two rows of rings, not the cheap simple metal bands, but jeweled masterpieces. Staring at the finest piece in the collection, John's hand gained a mind of its own and rubbed the smooth inside of the ring.

Asking for a price, Morgu's face lit up once again. John's own face twitched slightly as he was told the amount. He didn't know if it was his own lack of knowledge in the field of finger wear and prices, or if he was just getting ripped off. But despite his uncertainty, his eyes couldn't bear the idea of leaving the ring behind. So with his hand in his pocket, John retrieved the amount of gold and dropped it in Morgu's outstretched grasp.

A farewell and walk home later, John looked at the ring one last time before hiding it away. With the symbol of love safely in his grasp, all John really needed now was the right moment.

In his shack, there was little left of the gold he kept in his pocket to put back in the sack. Shacking it once, the leftover prize still jingled with a fine musicale tune. John was sure that he still had enough to spare on whatever expenses that will come from their future engagement.

"John," his mother called, stiffening his spine as he quickly shut the sack away from prying eyes, "will you come out here?"

John did as he was asked, locating his mother who was starting up dinner earlier then usual.

"John, would you be a dear and go get your father," she requested, "I've decided to have dinner early today and he's all alone at that crypt, you need to go tell him."

"Alright," John agreed, though it wasn't like he could say no. So John left for the crypt, heading to find his father who was currently all alone.

But what he didn't was how wrong alone really was. He didn't know of the three new visitors to the modest town of Oakvale. One with a poisonous grudge, the others just along for the ride.

* * *

><p>John's father had finished the work he wanted to get done for the day. The crypt's door behind his back, he trudged off toward his home to relax.<p>

But as he was leaving, a horse drawn carriage charged forward and stopped just before him. The door swung open and out stepped Arian, his eyes looking about the scenery with disgust.

"You there," he said, addressing John's father, "is this Oakvale?"

"Why yes it is," he replied, "is there something I can help you with?"

"Actually yes, I am looking for a man named John from here. You wouldn't happen to know him would you?"

"Yes, he is my son. Is something the matter?" A grin stretched across his face as Arian heard the news.

"Oh no no... not anymore..."

* * *

><p>John came closer and closer to the crypt. There was a foreboding feeling that hung over his shoulders the whole way, a sickened sense that made his trigger hand twitch and his pistol stir nervously under his clothes. He had broken into a run the moment he felt it, but it only grew worse as he approached the crypt.<p>

As his gaze came over the area surrounding it, his sights took in what was there. The carriage coming into few first, the owner, and then the man being punished under his wrath.

John's father was kicked back onto the ground, blood dripping from his battered wounds. The fight being beaten out of him already. Arian and his two goons stood over him, laughing over their conquest over an aged man.

"Tattered, pathetic old fool," Arian jeered, "hardly any fight in you. Though you are that bastard's father, so I suppose it's all worth it in the end."

"Arian," John's voice bellowed out over the scenery. Arian looked up and smiled.

"Ah, there you are John. It's good to see you running to your own funeral. But first I have a little more pain to cause you." Not even giving John a moment, Arian pulled out his pistol and fired.

John's eyes cracked as wide as they would allow as he watched his father crumple into the dirt. His body just laid there, unmoving, lifeless.

With trembling legs, John walked to his fallen father. There was no moment for a tearful farewell, no chance to say goodbye, his father was already dead.

"W-why..." was all John could croak out, standing over the corpse that was before him.

"You dare mock me," Arian said, his face and voice showing the rage within, "you dare humiliate me. _Me,_ a Grey! A peasant like you has no right to even think of challenging me! But just as I've put down your weakling of a father, so will you be made to suffer for this injustice." Arian brought up his pistol again, aiming it for John's heart. "Tatty-bye peasant." His finger twitched on the trigger and it fired.

For that moment, a blinding anger surged through John. Not even needing to think, he grabbed his own pistol and fired it.

Then there was a stillness in the air, a crackling bang sounded over them all and it all went quite. Arian and his fellows just looked at each other in confusion as John stood there. They didn't see what the marksman's shot had done. Aiming his pistol direct infront of Arian's, when John fired, the bullet was sent directly into the path of the other. They both met, shatter one another and sounding off the deafening boom.

Arian just shrugged it off, realizing he had more shots to spend. He brought his pistol up once again, staring directly at John as his finger pressed down.

But Arian stopped, his eyes catching the strangest of sights.

It was John. His shoulders quaked and his deep breathing shuddered from the unstable mixture of anger and grief. Suddenly, there was a bright flash that blinded them. Looking back to John brought a tremble to the attackers.

Left behind from the flash, a bright yellow glow had formed into John's eyes, as bright as the sun itself. The glow trailed down and wrapped around his fingers, engulfing the pistol in his hands and causing it to pulsate.

Not wanting to see how the spectacle would turn out, Arian lifted his pistol and began firing. But he wasn't near quick enough. With speed like lightning, John had his own pistol up and fired. The shot sped by at an impossible speed and tore through Arian's hand.

With a scream of pain, what was left of his gun and appendage fell to the ground. All that was left was the mangled palm. Arian tried to run, straightening his legs and twisting his waist to move. But John was already pulling his trigger down once again. The second shot landed in the center of his throat. As the blood spurted out onto the ground, Arian could only make a sickening gurgle while his body collapsed.

"Tatty-bye," John said, his face twisting into a sadistic smirk.

His so called friends were frozen in terror. Looking from Arian to John repeatedly. They quickly regained their movement, tripping over themselves to make as much distance between them and the mad gunman.

John wasn't done with them yet though. Hardly making any real distance, his next shot cut into the first one's back, going all the way through and out his heart. The other kept running, not missing a step over his fallen comrade. But he then fell to the ground, John's final shot tearing into the back of his skull.

For a moment, John just stood there. His breathing never slowing, the glowing around him barely fading. But then John just collapsed to his knees, looming over his dead father as the tears poured from his eyes.

For the longest time, John just sat there in mourning. Looking down at his father, he could only question how such a thing could happen. All throughout his life, he always looked at his father as the strongest man ever. He should of easily of been able to handle a spoiled child and his fools of friends. But he couldn't, such a harsh reality that slapped John with its cold hand. All because of the inevitable concept of weakening age.

"I am sorry for your loss," a woman's voice said next to him. But John didn't bother to look at the newcomer, only catching a glimpse of her feet and hem of her dress.

"He used to be so strong..." John muttered, unable to look away from the cold face of his father. "How could he have fallen so easily."

"It's the bitterness of age. To peak early and become weaker as time grows." John just shook his head.

"This isn't what I want. This isn't how I want to live. To change into a pathetic mess, to die without leaving so much as a scratch on this big world... But how can you stop something as powerful as time?"

"There is no easy answer. Life is considered a great journey, and as any journey, life must end. But very rarely, destiny and fate play their hands. Say if your own destiny was meant for far greater things then a simple lifetime, in a simple town. _You_ would have to be the one to act upon that destiny, to break the mortal laws and transcend the boundaries of life. Someone like yourself could do that John, but there is always a price that must be paid."

"And... if I am willing to pay that price?" John turned his gaze toward the woman he was conversing with. But no one was there. He looked about him, but there was no trace of anyone else ever being there.

There was _something_ there. Laying on the ground beside him. It was a book, a large black leather tome. Picking it up, John ran his hand over the cover, there was no title, only a metal seal of a roaring dragon.

John turned the many pages of the great book. He realized that they were magical rituals, ancient arts that were surly forbidden long ago.

But there was one ritual that caught his eye instantly, a purple and black seal being pictured on its first page.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: ugh man... this chapter was a bit of a pain to do. With the changing seasons happening around me, allergies are starting to kick in. Sucks horribly when you try and write something while your nose is stuffed, unable to be used and your head feels like it's two sizes too small.**

**Whatever though, it's getting done so I can't really complain. **


	6. No Longer Himself

**Chapter 6: No Longer Himself**

The entire village was in mourning. Such a tragic and senseless death tore at the hearts of the people of Oakvale.

Hearing the gunfire echo across the village, the people all followed to see a bloodbath. Three strangers lie dead on their road, while one of their own was being grieved over by his son. No explanation were spoken of, but from what they saw, it wasn't hard to tell.

It took only moments for everyone to be notified, John's mother taking it the hardest, her sobbing cries still being heard past her walls as they guards who notified her left.

Preparations for the funeral were done quickly, allowing for the event to be carried out the following day. Every shop and service in the village was shut down for the proceedings, each and every soul was in attendance to pay their respects, all but one.

John had been absent throughout, the empty seat next to his mother was a clear sign. As far as anyone else knew, he hadn't been seen since they found the incident. As worrisome as it made people, the man had just seen his father murdered in front of him, certainly someone would need time to be alone for sometime after that.

But John wasn't grieving over his loss, his mind was elsewhere. Sitting in his dimly lit home, he poured all of his focus into the black tome he had found. Page after page he turned, studying the ritual to every detail. The ingredients, the markings, and the expectations.

Each word he read echoed with an ominous howl in his mind. A silent hum pulsed through his fingers during every turn of the thin paper. But John was too far gone to notice it. The marksman could feel Death's icy fingers digging into his shoulders, constantly looming over him. Desperation was what was driving him. John could still see the look in his father's eyes when he died, the lifeless stare that could cut into your very soul, driving the fear of death into the bravest of men.

The last page was memorized. John knew what he had to do and how to do it. First things first, he needed the proper ingredients. Of course how to obtain said ingredients was another matter entirely. But one idea came to him quickly, an oddity of a man who he was certain was still in his proper place. And once again, a problem of funds found its way to his doubts. There was no way they would be inexpensive.

John's eyes then drifted over to his hiding place. Where he had stored away the trophy he had won, along with the sack of gold he had planned to spend on his beloved.

John took the bag without a moment of hesitation.

* * *

><p>"You want what now?" Morgu asked, confused by the odd request. John sighed as he repeated the list of supplies he needed.<p>

Getting to the merchant was much easier then John had thought. The village was still locked down with everyone shut inside their homes to grieve. It surprised him more to see Morgu still waiting outside trying to sell his goods, rather then resting inside the Inn he beside.

"Do you have any of it or not?" John asked, sounding impatient. After a moment of thought, Morgu rifled through his wares. Shortly after, he held up a brown sack that bulged with different items.

"Here," Morgu said, handing the sack over, "and I've heard about your father, I'm sorry."

"Yeah..." John muttered as he accepted the bag, he retrieved his own and dropped most of the coins that were left onto the table. With nothing else in need, John departed the merchant without another word.

Next in John's sight was where he planned to preform such a feat. A perfectly secluded spot that also held the final piece he needed. The Oakvale Crypt.

* * *

><p>The Crypt was as deathly silent as it always had been. Cold air filled his lungs as John marched through the dimly lit halls. His own soft footsteps doing nothing to stop the stillness in the air.<p>

John had been through the Crypt countless times with his father, seeing every inch of the old passages and seeing all that was left of it. In particular, one place was on his mind as he continued his descent.

Down in the deepest, darkest room of the Crypt John stood. A large circular room with stone coffins rising high up into the air, like a gigantic well of death and sorrow. It was certainly the oldest room in the ancient tomb. It also made for the best spot to preform the ritual.

So John began his work, the main piece of the morbid puzzle was the need of a suitable shrine. Within the black tome, it showed diagrams and illustrations of one such shrine, a horrific construct of human remains.

But John didn't flinch for a moment as he pictured himself making such a thing, neither did he as he tore open the stone coffins, robbing the skeletal remains and rightly positioning them. He had no clue as to who the person may have been in life, but he didn't care either way. Their own fate was what he was trying to avoid, he wouldn't be stopped by such a petty moral struggle.

It took some time, but John finished with his first step. Three identical structures stood before him, appearing just as the tome showed.

The next step was the use of the right ingredients. From his bag, John removed a set of candles and lit them around the newly erected shrine, the light flickers made from the candles casting an even more eerie effect across the chamber.

Then John took out a small, black stone. Crouching on the ground, John ran the stone on the stone floor, a black trail following behind. It took only a few minutes for him to wright a series of black markings on the ground in front of the shrine, just as the tome asked for.

There was one more final piece. Emptying the bag, John examined a silver dagger and glass vial. Holding up the dagger, he ran its reflective blade across the palm of his hand. Immediately, the wound began to bleed. The vial came next, filled with a clear liquid, from a faraway spring of purity. It was then emptied out onto the wound, sending a sharp pain into his nerves.

While the cut continued to bleed, John approached the center structure of the shrine. With a dip of his fingers in the scarlet liquid, he began marking the shrine with a symbol. It matched the seal within the tome perfectly.

As soon as he was finished, the red seal began to glow. Before John could react to it, the Seal changed to a thick black. A powerful force then rammed into John, knocking him off the shrine and against the stone floor.

Massive explosions of sound boomed around the chamber, the shadows danced even more wildly as what sounded like a howling wind swirled around the shrine. John covered his ears in pain as he tried to muffle the noise.

But then it all stopped. The booming, the wind, even the flickering of the candles, as though the flames themselves were frozen. As he looked up, the hair on John's neck stood up and his skin prickled coldly with goosebumps. There, standing before the shrine, where three shadow figures.

They appeared to be in black robes, though much taller then any human could ever be. Forms of black smoke was all that seemed to make them up, the only part of them not transparent were their eyes, dark red orbs that never blinked or looked away.

"Was it you who has summoned us," the center one asked, it's voice forming its own deep echo.

"Y-yes," John managed to say, trying to shake off the trembling in his voice, "who... what are you?"

"We are the Shadow Court, loyal followers of the King of Shadows. It is our role to give to those, that which they desire most, so long as they are willing to pay for it. We can see, that _you_ have a desire that you wish fulfilled." John's old determination was returned, fully remembering what was driving him forward.

"Yes," he said, much more firm then before, "I want freedom! I want these shackles of age removed, the burden to be lifted. I want to be immune to this _rotting_ disease known as time and death. There is no purpose in the limitations of mortality, no honor in losing everything to the grave!"

There was a slight pause, the shadowy creatures remaining silent as their red eyes stared at him.

"Very well," the center one finally said, "we will give you the blessing of everlasting youth. Your age and beauty will go on, unchanged from the withering effects of time. But this will only occur if you are willing to pay the price." It didn't take a moment of consideration for John, he knew what he wanted.

"Anything," he shouted, seeing his dream being realized.

"Very well, the bargain has been struck," said the shadowy figure. The three then raised up their arms and made a sweep before them. John felt a powerful gust push into him, chilling him down to the core. Afterward, he looked himself over, feeling no different. But then he felt a sharp ache in his cut hand. Looking down, he gasped in surprise as the wound began to close to the point it looked like nothing had ever been there.

"Now, we shall take our payment." The room began to shake and the three figures turned to pillars of black smoke. They all shot upward, leaving small trails behind them. A loud crash then sounded as the ceiling was blown to bits, showering stone into the chamber. John could only gaze up in fear as the floor he stood on quaked and developed deep cracks. Bits and pieces began to break away, falling into a deep nothing below.

But the fears of what was happening around him came to a halt as what was really happening came to him, in the form of a terrified shriek.

* * *

><p>John ran out of the crypt and into the fields of Oakvale. The sky itself was blank of any form of sunlight, a thick haze of gray and black covering the area. Three streaks of black smoke flew above the town. Looking on in horror, John watched as the shadowed forms flew into the surrounding homes of his village.<p>

As soon as they disappeared into the structure, the house began to change. Its wooden frame becoming grayed and weakened, the stone and glass cracked until it shattered, all as though a hundred years time was experienced in seconds. Another scream cut through the air as well, a scream of pain and terror.

It all continued, the members of the Shadow Court flying into the homes, taking away those John knew so well. Their screams became more frequent, rising up above everything else, each one sounding worse then the last.

John fell to the ground, writhing in agony as he heard his village die. Even as he clutched at his ears, attempting to silence in the screams, they kept coming, echoing inside his mind with no hope of stopping.

But one scream forced its way above all others. Even in the maddening nightmare that surrounded him, John knew all too well who it belonged to, a scream of a woman.

In a mad run, John followed his ears toward where the sound originated. Just at the town gate, he saw her. Marie, her body lying in a crumpled heap on the dirt road. John's entire body shook as though in a freeze as he approached her. He had forgotten that that day was when she would be returning to the village, to come and see her love.

John fell to his knees before her, seeing his ruined village off in the distance. Marie's face was disfigured in a wrinkled mess, looking as aged as the houses had after the shadows were done with it. He tried touching her but retracted, her flesh feeling like ice.

All John could do was sit there, his body shuddered as he looked at what was left of the place he called home. Everyone was gone, taken horrible because of him. His own foolish choices and selfish actions bringing the consequences to all others while he took the prize.

Silence had finally befallen the village, but it didn't stop the screaming. They still rang out in John's mind, forcing him to continuously realize his actions. The heavy burden of it all clung to his shoulders and cut away into his heart. He wanted to cry, but he couldn't, as though his tears had gone with the lives of the people he cared for.

A small sound of a gust of wind could be heard in front of John, he looked up to see the Shadow Court forming. They looked down on him, their demeanor and appearance going unchanged since their last encounter.

"It is done," the center one said, John didn't care for what they had to hear, lowering his gaze back down to "the required sacrifice has been made. And now you have the reward. You will live on as others die, your youth will stay as others fade. But know this, it is not the end of our bargain." Hearing that, John looked at them in shock. "The agreement only stands as sacrifices continue to come. You shall become our reaver of youth and beauty. Taking that which you covet from others, so you may sustain your own. When the time comes, you will be sent for, to bring a new offering to us and continue the pact. But be forewarned, when the sacrifices cease, so shall you." The Shadow Court then faded, leaving John alone.

All he could feel was pain aching through his body. Knowing just what he did, and what he earned from it all.

But then he realized something. John could see the future ahead of him, the endless future he now had, doing whatever he wanted. No longer held back by the ties of a family, of a home, not even death.

The screams in his head suddenly stopped, the pain in his heart ebbed away as a smile crept onto his face.

"Reaver... I quite like the sound of that..." He then stood up, looking down at Marie one last time. Remembering something, he reached into his bag and found the shrunken sack of gold. Fishing into it, he pulled out the gold ring that a man had purchased for her. With a light sight, he dropped the ring on the ground next to Marie's corpse. He then turned his back to the village and walked away, wondering what amusing activity he could do first.

* * *

><p>There are very few who knew of what truly happened in Oakvale. How a single choice decimated a village of heroes, of survivors.<p>

They all would mention how the entire population had died that day, all but one man, the one who caused it. But they did not fully understand their own words. While one man did leave the wreckage of Oakvale unscathed, he was no survivor, nor was he a villager. He was simply a man starting his first day of life, leaving behind a man that was known as John.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Okay then, there you all have it. One Simple Choice is done. (cheer) yay. Only 6 chapters, not a huge fic if you compare it to my last one. But I feel like it isn't that bad of one. **

**So, I hope everyone has enjoyed reading it. Leave a review of what all you liked if you feel like it. If you did, hopefully I can get other Fable fics out there soon enough.  
><strong>


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